


What You've Been Missing

by Ebozay



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-07-12 04:58:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15988115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebozay/pseuds/Ebozay
Summary: After the accident Lexa left her home, her family and her memories behind in the hopes of rediscovering who she once was. On her journey of healing Lexa meets a woman called Clarke who appears to be a kindred spirit. Their chance meeting sets Lexa on a path of friendship and discovery, where she finds that Clarke searches the world for her own missing pieces. But, for Lexa, their friendship grows into something more when she realises that Clarke might just be what she’s been missing.





	1. Chapter 1

Rain drummed down upon the footpath, each drop a wave, a pattern of circles that bled into one another, that drifted, wove together with little concern for the wind, the dirt, the rocks and gravel.

Lexa’s feet clipped against the footpath, each step she took splashing water against the legs of her pants, but she didn’t mind, never quite cared, perhaps even enjoyed. And she did for she found the rain calming, she found it soothing, she found it constant, familiar, its pattern, its beat and its echoing life never far from the last real memory she thought she had had for as long as she could remember.

A car flashed past, its colour a deep red, its growl a quiet fading whir of life, and Lexa spared it only enough time to register the shade of paint before she tucked her hands deeper into her coat pockets, hunched her shoulders to the chill of the wind and continued to push forward with little concern for those she walk by, and for those that travelled their own journey.

Wind tussled what little of her hair that had escaped the scarf wrapped around her neck, and Lexa found herself subconsciously reaching up, pulling her coat’s collar more stiffly against her neck as she tried to tame the strands of wavy brown taken by the wind.

Once she had thought that motion familiar, once she had thought it a stranger, but now it seemed shallow, it seemed forced, something half remembered, half uncertain in its existence, a song whose tune she couldn’t quite place despite the rhythm it would drum through her memories, but perhaps she couldn’t be blamed for thinking that. Not when she had once thought herself lost to the world, not when she had once thought herself never to remember much more again.

But Lexa came to a stop, she took a moment to eye her reflection in the window that reached up into the rain overhead, and she found herself marvelling, shying, shrinking away from the image that looked back at her.

And she did so for she found herself afraid of the age that looked back, at the way youth didn’t quite cling to her cheek bones anymore, to the way her eyes seemed sharper, aged, less of the child she remembered herself to be, and more that of a woman who had lived a life of love, of memories, of times shared and cherished.

And so she sighed, she shook her head forcefully for a too long moment, and she let her breath fog the air in front of her face before she pushed forward, palm out and fingers splayed against the glass door as it swung inwards to reveal Anya sitting at a table, a half smile upon her lips, and a hand wrapped around a coffee mug that steamed.


	2. Chapter 2

The warmth of the building wrapped Lexa in an embrace she fell into as she crossed the threshold. Quiet music played, the careful sounds of cutlery clinking against plates, of hushed conversation and the barely there echoes of food being prepared seemed to waft together, seemed to bleed into something comfortable.

Anya’s hand raised in a subtle greeting, and Lexa found herself beginning to smile as she made her way past tables, some occupied, others empty. She waved off a waitress who made to greet her, and Lexa couldn’t help but to admire the barely there flush of red that seemed to peek out from behind the makeup that graced the woman’s face, a sign of the heat of open flames, or from the constant moving to and fro she had been sure to be treading.

Lexa’s feet came to a stop though, and she couldn’t quite refrain from eyeing the cup of coffee in Anya’s hands now that she stood close enough to smell, close enough to reach out and grasp it and slap it away.

“You just going to stand there?” Anya asked with a raising of an eyebrow.

“Maybe I will,” Lexa said as she shrugged off her coat and let it hang over the back of a chair she pulled out.

“Maybe I’ll beat you up,” Anya answered as she took a sip before moaning ever so gracelessly.

Lexa laughed, the sound a little odd to her ear as she came to sit before Anya. But she found her gaze never straying too far from the cup in the other woman’s hands, from the way slender fingers seemed to cling to the mug with a desperation, with a need and a desire.

“What?” Anya asked, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she leant back, as a light from above cast a shadow against her face, that painted it in fierce streaks of black, that highlight just how proud her cheekbones had always been.

“You never used to like coffee,” Lexa said, and it was a truth, if only because she had found it so terribly hard to reconcile who Anya had become with who she remembered her to be.

“I got old,” Anya said, “you did, too.”

“Yeah,” and Lexa found that she now looked away, that she looked down to the menu laid out in front of Anya, that she tried to read upside down, or that she looked to those that sat within the confines of the restaurant, each person wearing a suit of crisp lines, smoky colours, of darks and depths, or skirts and shirts, blouses, crisp, simple and elegant.

“Hey,” and Anya’s foot nudged hers under the table. “You promised to knock this off,” and Lexa tried to fight the smile that crept its way onto her lips as Anya made a face at her.

“I—” but Lexa found that she was at a loss for words yet again.

Anya took pity on her though, and Lexa couldn’t help but to lean forward, to reach out and squeeze Anya’s free hand that rested atop the table.

“At least you dressed appropriately this time,” and Anya’s voice seemed to carry with it just the faintest lilts of jest, of humour, something deep and shared between old friends.

“You should have told me the first time,” Lexa countered. “Warned me or something,” and she eyed the suit jacket that hung across the back of Anya’s chair, that peeked out from behind a shoulder clad in a crisp white fabric that seemed so very far removed from the girl Lexa remembered Anya to have been.

“I’d have expected you to realise when I told you the address,” Anya challenged, and Lexa bit her lip as she felt just the faintest amount of heat creep into her ears at the way Anya’s face seemed not to shift expressions, yet conveyed meaning and subtlety, jest and humour.

“Yeah,” Lexa shrugged. “Well,” a pause for too long. “I’m not who I used to be.”

“No,” and Anya took another sip as she flipped the menu around so that Lexa could read it. “You aren’t.”

 

* * *

 

“When do you have to go back?” Lexa asked as she eyed the time on her phone, its light a little too piercing for the subtlety of the restaurant.

“When I want,” Anya answered, and Lexa couldn’t help but to feel just a little envious of the way Anya’s words seemed not to carry boast, arrogance, but merely statement and fact.

“I still can’t believe it,” Lexa said, and she couldn’t, not when what seemed like the last real memory she had of Anya was of her passed out on a couch in a strange room where music played far too loudly for either of them to appreciate in years to come.

“Same,” Anya answered, and Lexa watched as Anya turned, looked for a waiter. “But times are a changing,” she said as she turned back to face her. “How was your morning?”

“Good,” and it had been. “I read a little,” she said, and she took a moment to try to recall the things that she had read, that she had tried to catch up on. “I got angry again,” and she winced just a little at the memory of slamming her hand down upon the kitchen counter as she had realised she had read the same article only days earlier. “It’s still hard, I can hold onto things so much better now, but sometimes I slip up, I find that something just fell through the cracks,” and she trailed off as she found that Anya seemed content to watch, to take in the woman she felt herself not to be.

“You’ll get better with time,” and Anya shrugged. “I know you can’t remember much from when you woke up, but I do,” and Anya paused for a moment to gauge Lexa’s reaction, but Lexa found that she didn’t mind for some reason, not with Anya. “You got mad every day. Sad most hours. Depressed often,” and Anya paused as a waiter passed. “But you got better. And now we’re here.”

“Yes,” and Lexa found herself nodding ever so slowly. “We’re here.”

“Want to see a film tonight?” Anya asked, and Lexa admired the way Anya seemed not to care for tact at times, that she would simply change the topic with the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

“Yeah,” Lexa said, and she smiled as their lunch seemed to be coming to a close, and as she looked around the restaurant for a moment she found herself once more marvelling at those that sat within its walls. “But you’re paying,” she finished with a laugh, but Lexa saw a woman look up to the sound, hair golden and hanging just below her shoulders, who sat alone with a half finished glass in front of her in the corner of the restaurant. But what seemed to catch Lexa’s attention the most was that her gaze seemed piercing, seemed defiant and desperate even across the distance.

“Cool.”

 

* * *

 

“That was a stupid film,” Anya’s voice seemed to fill the car cabin with a contempt that made Lexa laugh, shy away from and embrace all at the same time.

“You’re the one who chose it.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that it sucked.”

 

* * *

 

The moon hung high in the sky, it’s colour a rich yellow that Lexa was sure held the barest hints of a faded red if she looked hard enough. Rain drizzled down ever so slightly, and to Lexa it felt more of a mist, more a cloud, something that cocooned around her, rather than battered down upon her shoulders.

Anya walked just a pace in front of her, the woman’s keys jingling lightly with each step she took. Lexa still found that she felt awed at the home Anya had come to call her own, that it was modest, not large, not showy, but each little piece, from the archway with its crisp right angles and slate grey paint, to the way the light in the morning would glow off the parchment coloured paint and cast the garden in an amber red hue was something that spoke of attention to detail, of hours spent pondering, considering, calculating each little element. And Lexa thought that reflected Anya well.

The door swung open as Anya tucked her keys into a pocket and waved Lexa forward as lights began to switch on with their presence, and Lexa couldn’t help but to groan as she kicked off her shoes, let the tumble somewhere along the length of the entryway. But she couldn’t help but to wince, to grimace at the huff of annoyance Anya let slip at the motion.

“Sorry,” Lexa said quietly as she leant down and shuffled her shoes next to Anya’s and let them sit beside ones with sheerheels, ones with elegant arches to them, and ones for running, where materials and sciences combined together into a compact package that Lexa was sure cost far too much for her to even consider buying.

“I’m going straight to bed,” Anya said as she stifled a yawn. “See you in the morning Lex.”

And with that Lexa bid Anya a quiet goodnight as she began to move deeper through Anya home.

Anya’s home was quiet, each light the turned on seemed to know that the moon ruled the night’s sky at this hour for they turned on just barely, only enough to give sight to her tired eyes. Reflections and shadows bounced off each surface she past, some blinking in and out of existence as soon as she past, others seemingly bending to her presence, shifting with each step she took and each breath she let free.

Lexa found herself in the kitchen, the tile of the floor cool against her feet, and the harsh bite of the kitchen counter that dominated the space crisp in the way the moon light shone in through the large windows and broke against the hard edge of the counter. She reached out then, one hand quick to turn the kettle on, the other already fumbling for her favourite mug that sat somewhere to the side of the counter, its colour red, deep, vibrant and full of an intensity she thought lacking in her life at times.

And it took only a few short minutes, but eventually Lexa found herself sitting at the counter, a high stool beneath her as she looked out the window and into the night’s sky. Stars glinted, they seemed to sparkle and dance through the dark, and even the clouds appeared to move with a desire and a wish to do more than simply exist.

It was times like this though, that Lexa thought the hardest, it was times of quiet, where the only companion she found were her thoughts and troubles. And she found it hard, simply because her mind seemed to always wander to her past, to the one she could remember, to the one she could picture as clearly as the events of yesterdays had. But she also found that her thoughts journeyed to the past she couldn’t remember, to the one after she had woken, to the one where her days were spent trying to remember a life that seemed more a dream, more a fleeting memory clouded by desires and wishes.

But she shook her head, she let the motion clear away her troubles and she brought her cup to her lips and took a sip, let the heat burn her lips for just a moment and she embraced the pain, as much as she embraced what little remnants of rain graced the ground outside with the quiet pattering drum beats that echoed out around her.

And perhaps embracing the rain, perhaps embracing the cold, the heat of the cup, and the pain was a sign, something morose, something dark, something lurking just past her vision. Or perhaps it was simply because it had, for such a long time, been the only memory she could hold on to.

But once more her reflection seemed to steal her attention, it seemed to focus in the glass, it seemed to look back at her with a defiance, with a want, and a life that was so far removed from the woman she appeared to be.

“What?” Lexa spoke softly, and she hoped her reflection would answer. “Am I not what you expected?” But when no answer came she didn’t find it alarming, she didn’t find it sad. Not really.

She sighed forcefully then, she let her lungs fill, she let them expand, and she let the breath she held out in a long, careful, stuttering exhale. Lexa felt herself slowly becoming lost in her reflection, she felt her eyes beginning to take in every little detail upon the face, and she tried to remember something, she tried to remember anything that would give way, that had been holding back the depths of a life she had once cherished.

“I wish I could remember what had made you laugh so much,” and Lexa’s gaze seemed to focus on the wrinkles in the corners of the eyes, to the ones that just barely broke across the face, that spoke of a life only just beginning to settle, of one with years of life left to experience. “Were you happy?” and she paused. She paused and she brought her cup to her lips and took in another sip. “Or were you sad? Angry? Did you love? Did you find happiness?”

And she found that her shoulders began to shake ever so slightly, she found that her tears began to slow ever so gently. But perhaps most of all, she found that a pain seemed to exist somewhere in the very fibres of her body, that seemed to hollow out a part of her identity, that seemed to have stolen something from her, and that might never return. If only she knew what it was.

 

* * *

 

Rain pelted down more forcefully than it had done the previous day but Lexa sat in safety behind the glass windows of the restaurant she had been in with Anya. Music filled the interior, something old, something quiet, something a little familiar if she listened hard enough.

It was early morning, Anya had left for work mere hours earlier, and Lexa had found herself unsure of what to do, unsure of where to go, and so she had taken Anya’s advice on trying the restaurant at a different time, and so she found herself in that very place, her hair a mess of wind swept rain and tussled to the elements. But she didn’t mind, didn’t mind keeping up appearances at such an establishment, didn’t mind not trying too hard to fit just perfectly into the crowd.

She sighed then, wrapped her fingers around the cup, let its warmth bleed into her palm and she brought it to her lips with an appreciative moan that seemed to linger in the space around her for a long while.

Lexa looked around herself and it didn’t quite surprise her to find that the restaurant seemed empty of others, that a quiet calm had settled in place, where wait staff seemed to linger somewhere quiet, where the kitchen buzz seemed lessened enough that she hardly noticed. But Lexa thought it charming, she thought it enticing, if only because it let her focus on each little detail with little worry for disruption, with little worry for the interruptions of a life she longed to remember.

She thought memory a strange thing though, and she thought it strange for she couldn’t even place the exact time in which she had begun to remember more than a few days, before she could really put order to the chaos that existed within her mind.

She remembered the days when she would wake confused, would ask for her mother, her father, would be shocked at her reflection, would seem unsure of someone who had sat before her, who had known her as much as she had not known them.

She remembered the frustration, the anger, the anxiety and the inability to grasp more than a few short days before it would all start again.

But perhaps most importantly, she remembered Anya, she remembered growing up with her, she remembered the times spent together through the years, and so she had jumped at the opportunity to go with Anya, to escape the torment of a forgotten life, to try to find herself in somewhere that had known her as little as she had known it. And Lexa had been thankful, she had been grateful, had cherished and loved and tried as hard as she could to make sure Anya would and could never regret the offer to take her awa—

“Is this seat taken?”

The voice cut into her thoughts carefully, the timbre of the words she heard seemed unsure, quiet and uncertain.

Lexa looked up to see a woman standing a few paces from where she sat, one hand half extended to the chair opposite her, the other tucked into the pockets of her coat whose colour was a deep blue.

“Ah,” and Lexa looked around herself and at the restaurant, to the empty seats, to the absence of others. “No?”

“I just—” but the woman paused for a moment as she seemed to think of what to say. “I thought it would be awkward if we were the only two people in here and we just ignored each other,” she said. “I can leave.”

“No,” and Lexa found herself trying to picture where she had seen the woman before. “No,” and she gestured to the seat. “Take it.”

And so the woman paused for another moment as she considered something before she smiled, pulled the seat out and took her place opposite her.

“Clarke,” she said carefully, and Lexa found herself unsure of what she saw in the woman’s eyes, for she was sure she sensed an intensity in the way the woman met her gaze.

“Lexa,” she said.

“I saw you before,” Clarke said after a pause, and Lexa’s head tilted to the side as she tried to remember. “Last night,” she offered. “You were sitting with the other woman.”

“Oh,” and Lexa’s memories snapped to the woman she had seen in the corner of the restaurant, to the glass before her, and to the way her gaze seemed piercing and desperate. “Anya,” Lexa offered.

“Ah,” and Clarke looked away.

“Do you come here often?” Lexa asked, and she tried to recall if she had seen Clarke before.

“No,” and Clarke shook her head. “I just arrived a few days ago,” and she shrugged as she trailed off.

“Change of jobs?” and perhaps Lexa enjoyed being able to share a conversation with someone with no expectations of remembered and forgotten lives.

“Not really,” Clarke said as she shrugged off her coat and hung it on the back of her chair. “I just needed a break from life for a while, so I took time off, thought I’d try and unwind somewhere far from home.”

And at that Lexa couldn’t help but to feel a moment of sympathy for her, if only because she knew the feeling, too.

“I get that,” Lexa said, but she found herself trying to decide how much to divulge. “I did the same.”

“You did?” Clarke asked, and Lexa couldn’t help but to admire the depth in Clarke’s voice. “Sorry,” Clarke added after a second though. “I don’t mean to intrude, I don’t need to know.”

“It’s ok,” and perhaps Lexa found herself not so sure of why she felt at ease at the suddenness of the situation. “I just needed to get away, too. Too much stress where I used to live,” and perhaps a truth, just with the edges muddied was safe enough for now.

A quiet buzz echoed out around them then, and Lexa watched as Clarke looked down, pulled out her phone and eyed the screen for a second before tucking it back into her pocket.

“Busy?” Lexa joked, and she watched as Clarke’s eyes seemed to sparkle, seemed to dance in the light, seemed to hide something desperate in its depths.

“No,” she answered. “Just a friend checking up on me.”

Lexa smiled at that, if only because she knew how that felt, too, with Anya having never strayed far in her time of need.

“What’s good?” Clarke asked as she reached for a menu.

“I’m actually not sure,” and Lexa laughed a little nervously as she eyed the way Clarke’s gaze seemed to hold hers for a long moment of time. “I’ve never had the breakfast menu before.”

“Oh,” but Clarke bit her lip as she looked down at the menu, and Lexa found herself doing the same, if only to distract from the uncertainty she felt emanating from Clarke.

“Anya tells me the scrambled eggs is goo—”

Lexa was interrupted by her phone buzzing quietly, and she glanced down at the table where she had left it to see her screen glowing. She spared it only a moment to register Anya’s name and the message icon before the screen began to fade.

But Lexa looked up to see Clarke eyeing her screen, her gaze a little unfocused and tinged with an emotion she couldn’t quite place.

“It’s a picture of a painting I own,” Lexa offered, for she was sure Clarke had been trying to discern just what her phone’s wallpaper had been. “Just a whole bunch of different reds all mixed together,” she continued. “Red’s my favourite colour,” she finished with an awkward smile.

“I know,” Clarke said with a nod.

“You know?” and Lexa’s head tilted to the side.

“I can tell,” Clarke said quickly. “Your scarf,” and she pointed to where it hung looped around the chair. “And your coat.”

“Yeah,” and Lexa found herself smiling a little less awkwardly. “I guess I do like the colour.”


	3. Chapter 3

Wind swept across the park, grass, greyed by the clouds overhead, seemed to dance with the beat of the falling rain and Lexa’s feet pushed forward, each step brisk, eager, wanting and purposef—

A flash of gold, of blue, of charming warmth caught her attention in the distance. It took her a moment to register the silhouette of a person sitting on a bench, hunched over, who huddled from the rain, who hid under the protection of a mighty tree.

It took Lexa another long second to realise she recognised who that person was, and perhaps she couldn’t quite understand the odd sensation that seemed to flit through her thoughts for just a moment before she found herself changing direction. And so Lexa tucked her hands deeper into her coat’s pockets, hunched her shoulders and turned her lips into the stiff collar of her coat.

Lexa remembered the conversation and shared company she had had with Clarke only days earlier at the restaurant, whose chance encounter had ended with that same odd sensation somewhere in the back of her mind. But she thought that it simply because the woman seemed kind, seemed easy going. At least despite the pain and loss Lexa sensed behind Clarke’s eyes.

And perhaps if Clarke had been anyone else, had been greasy haired, sly smiled in all the wrong ways, perhaps she would have avoided, have not leant into what conversation they had shared. And yet she had found Clarke easy to talk with, to share time with, however awkwardly it had started.

Clarke looked up at her approach, and Lexa wasn’t sure which emotion she saw on the woman’s face, perhaps surprise, happiness, sadness, maybe a combination of all three.

“What are you doing out here?” Perhaps Lexa should have thought of a better way of saying hi, of announcing her presence.

“Hey,” Clarke said, and Lexa found that she liked the smile upon Clarke’s lips as the woman squinted as a gust of wind picked up the rain and seemed to throw it against them both a little too fiercely.

“It’s raining,” Lexa said as she took a step closer to the bench, under the cover of the tree.

“It is,” Clarke answered, as she gestured for Lexa to take a seat beside her, and it wasn’t until Clarke moved over just a little that Lexa noticed she cradled a drawing pad in her arms and a pencil between dirtied fingers.

“You were drawing?” Lexa said as she sat.

“I was,” Clarke said, and she angled the drawing pad enough that Lexa could look at it.

And Lexa saw the park, saw the trees that dotted its edges, that grouped together in places, that stood apart in other areas. She saw the rain as it beat down onto the grass, and she thought she even saw the wind that billowed and blowed and beat against the plants.

“Out in the rain?” Lexa couldn’t help but to ask, if only because she couldn’t quite see why anyone else would enjoy the rain, would enjoy its cold embrace.

“Yeah,” and Clarke shrugged, and the way her eyebrows furrowed and her eyes seemed to waver, seemed to hold her gaze with an intensity that made her skin prickle, made Lexa want to reach out and smooth the crease between the other woman’s eyebrows. Clarke looked away for a moment then, and Lexa was sure she thought over how to explain, what to say. “I like the rain,” Clarke added. “It helps me feel alive, feel closer to better times,” and a pause came for just a moment. “It helps me remember that after the bad, there’ll always be the good,” and Clarke shrugged, the corner of her mouth turning up into the barest hints of a smile as she looked away, looked out to the rain. “I don’t know if that makes sense.”

“It does,” Lexa said, and she thought it did for she believed the same. If only because she remembered flashes of rain, of screaming, of pain, anger, fear and agony and frustration and desperation. “It does,” she repeated quietly, and she couldn’t hold back the barest hints of a shiver that shook her shoulders.

Lexa looked back to Clarke then, and it wasn’t a conscious decision, wasn’t even a thought action, but it took her just a few short moments to realise that her gaze seemed to drink in all that she saw.

And Lexa saw the barest hints of a scar, something hidden, tucked away behind Clarke’s hairline, that seemed to snake behind her right ear. And Lexa saw the pain in Clarke’s eyes, in the way she held herself, in the way she seemed not to look Lexa in the eyes too long, as if staring for longer than she should would be seen as weak, as desperate, as selfish or any other emotion Lexa knew she had felt herself.

Clarke seemed to sense Lexa’s gaze though for she looked her way, seemed to recognise where Lexa’s attention had been drawn, and so, “sorry,” Lexa averted her eyes, looked away from the scar. “I didn’t mean to stare.”

“It’s ok,” Clarke answered with another shrug. “It happened a while ago.”

And yet again Lexa found her thoughts, her mind and her consciousness running away from her, and for why, she couldn’t quite tell.

“It looks serious,” and Lexa cursed herself as soon as the words slipped past her lips for she hadn’t meant to pry, to push.

But Clarke seemed not to care, seemed not to mind. Or she hid it well.

“It was,” Clarke said and she turned to face her more fully. “I was in a coma for a while,” Clarke answered. “Car accident. It was raining, a tree branch fell, freak accident and the driver lost control,” and Clarke gestured around them. “Ironic, right?”

“I’m sorry,” Lexa said, and she couldn’t help but to think it more ironic than Clarke could ever had imagined.

Clarke looked out into the rain once more, and Lexa found it odd that they both seemed content to share in what little company was between them, and perhaps she found it odd that she seemed to be drawn to Clarke with each word that was passed between them.

Or perhaps not, if only because she thought Clarke a kindred spirit, someone who could, or at least might be able to understand and empathise with the things that had happened in her own life.

The scratching of pencil against paper joined the sounds of falling rain and Lexa looked to find Clarke had continued drawing the scene before her, and she found herself smiling ever so slightly at the way a crease formed upon Clarke’s nose as she concentrated, bit her lip and squinted just a little into the distance for a short moment.

But before Lexa could really try to appreciate the quiet of the moment Clarke seemed to sigh, seemed to break free from the trance her drawing had pulled her into. Lexa watched as Clarke scribbled the date into the bottom right corner of the drawing, her hand careful as she lifted it from the page in an attempt not to smudge it.

“You could date it on the left corner instead,” Lexa said quietly, and she found that she enjoyed the knowing smile that played across Clarke’s lips.

“I could,” and Clarke blew across the paper’s surface for a brief second. “But the date’s always the last thing I add to any drawing,” and she lifted her hand, showed the smudged dark across her hand. “And if it’s the last thing I add to the drawing then it should be purposeful. It’s a way of forcing myself to be extra carful, to make sure I finish it with care.”

“Ah,” and perhaps Lexa wished she could articulate something smarter, something more profound, something a little more artistic in nature than a simple _ah._ But Clarke seemed not to mind.

“It doesn’t make sense to you, does it,” and Clarke’s voice held a hint of jest, of humour.

“It does,” Lexa said, but she thought it a half lie.

“Ok,” and Clarke turned the drawing pad around, held it up for her to see. “What do you think?”

And so Lexa took the time to take in the drawing.

And it seemed elegant somehow. Each pencil stroke was filled with emotion, with angers and frustrations, their edges broken in places, sharp and twisted, and in others streamlined, thin, careful and purposeful.

Or perhaps Lexa didn’t quite know what the pencil strokes were. But she could appreciate the drawing for it brought forth an image of the red painting that hung in her bedroom, to the reds, some shades fierce and vibrant, some dull, muted and somber.

“I like it,” Lexa said, and she meant it.

“You do?” perhaps surprise and just a little shock found its way into Clarke’s voice.

“I do,” Lexa said. “I’m not much of an artist,” she shrugged and smiled, too. “But it’s good.”

 

* * *

 

The rain had only just begun to lessen by the time Lexa’s keys scraped against the lock to Anya’s place. It took her a moment longer of muttered annoyance before it clicked open and she stepped inside to be greeted by the warmth of a heater, and the gentle sound of music being played from somewhere deep inside the home.

Lexa heard Anya call out a greeting then, and from the muffled sound, she knew Anya to be in the bathroom, to be unwinding from what she assumed must have been another long day at work.

It didn’t take Lexa long before she found a place sitting at the kitchen counter, her hair a little ruffled from the rain and wind, and her hand clutching a piece of paper whose weight seemed to settle a little more heavily than it should against her palm.

But she looked up at the sounds of footsteps to find Anya leaning against a doorframe, eyes a little curious as she took in what must have been a faraway expression plastered across her face.

“What?” Lexa asked.

“You were out for a while,” Anya said simply.

“Yeah,” and Lexa couldn’t fight back the faintest smile that found a place on her lips.

Anya’s eyebrow raised at that, and Lexa could see the faintest smirk upon her lips.

“What?” Lexa asked as she tucked the piece of paper into a pocket.

“I know that smile.”

“What smile?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Lexa,” Anya said as she pushed off from the door frame and took a step closer. “Something happened, so spill it.”

Not for the first time Lexa found herself thinking of Clarke, of the struggles the other woman seemed to have faced, of the few things she knew of her. And so too did Lexa think of her own struggles, of her own pain, of her own need to healing.

And maybe that was why she seemed to be drawn to Clarke, seemed to gravitate towards the desperation in blue eyes. And perhaps it was for selfish reasons, was simply because she wished not to be the sole person in the world who couldn’t find a place in the world she found herself. Or maybe it was because she thought Clarke could use a friend, could use someone who would be there to help.

And so, “I don’t know if you saw,” Lexa began, she bit her lip, tried not to seem too eager. “But when we were out for lunch a few days ago there was a woman,” and Lexa eyed the way a smirk played across Anya’s lips.

“Blonde?” the question came out just a little aloof.

“Clarke,” Lexa corrected. “I met her again the next day.”

“I see,” Anya said as she crossed her arms and leant her hip against the kitchen bench opposite Lexa.

“And I saw her today,” Lexa said. “She was drawing. At the park.”

“Ah,” and Anya’s gaze seemed to shift ever so slightly. “So you spent all day with her?”

“Not all day,” Lexa said. “But we talked.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes,” Lexa said. “She’s nice. Had a hard couple years,” and Lexa looked away for a brief moment. “I think she could use a friend.”

“I see,” Anya said. “You going to catch up again?”

“I don’t know,” Lexa answered truthfully. And now, as she thought over it, she realised she had no way of contacting Clarke. But perhaps it didn’t quite bother her, if only because for some reason she thought their paths would cross again soon. “I hope so,” she finished with a smile.

“You didn’t get her number?” Anya asked.

“It didn’t cross my mind,” Lexa said, and she wondered what it was that she seemed to see in Anya’s gaze. “What?”

“Nothing.”

 

* * *

 

Water beat down upon Lexa’s shoulders, the heat of the shower doing much to ease the tension that seemed to have clung to her muscles during the day. Steam wafted and billowed around her, it filled her vision with clouded shapes, and she let the hints of soap, of barely there spices fill her nose and ease her mind.

And it was hot, it was humid, Lexa felt clammy, her flesh felt sticky, moist, it seemed to prickle, to buzz, and something, somewhere, somehow, seemed to call out to her, to beg her forth, to sing to her from somewhere deep within her subconscious. Lexa leant her head against the cool of the glass shower door, she tried to search for the cold that she knew would be there, and she tried to let it clear her thoughts, clear her mind, shake whatever images flashed through her head. But it did little to ease the pressure she felt building.

She couldn’t quite place the memory that seemed to be wafting forward, she couldn’t even quite discern it from a dream or nightmare. Perhaps she couldn’t even picture it, but she could sense it somewhere.

And it was sensual, it was hazy, it seemed to feather her mind with a gentle caress and a piercing lust that brought quickened heartbeat and laboured breath. Shapes and sounds and touches came and went, something desperate, something eager, wanting, joyful and full of emotion took hold of her body. Lexa’s skin crawled, it seemed to buzz, and it took her a moment to realise what she did, that she had placed one hand palm flat against the glass of the shower window as if in search for a reprieve from the heat building in her core and the other had found purchase deep within. She couldn’t quite stifle the whimper and moan that escaped past her lips as she felt the pressure build, bubble to the surface, and then cascade through her body with an intensity that made her shiver.

“Fuck,” she breathed, and her legs felt unsteady, her mind seemed clouded, and she couldn’t help but to press her cheek more firmly into the cold as she steadied herself with both her hands now.

Lexa’s eyes opened, and perhaps she thought she saw the ghost of a smile somewhere in the steam, but it seemed to vanish as quickly as the wandering of her fingers had begun. But the thing she did know, the thing she knew she recognised, was a piercing blue, and a shimmering gold.

 

* * *

 

The walk to her room from the bathroom was short, barely twenty paces, but nonetheless, Lexa took each step with a caution, if only because she didn’t quite want to think that Anya had heard whatever had happened. And so Lexa let out a relieved sigh as she let her bedroom door close. She turned on the light, its intensity enough to blind her for a fraction of a second before her vision settled upon the painting upon her wall.

Brushstrokes, some desperate, some controlled, all joined together in a cacophony of emotion, of lust and intensity and wanting desire. And it called out to her, it made her think of things she couldn’t quite grasp, if only because they had been stolen from her, had been snatched from her mind and hidden somewhere she knew not where to even search for.

And Lexa found that she hated moments like this, when her life seemed to want to find a place in the world it now found itself, yet memories, however faint, however far gone, called out, pulled her back, made her want to retreat step after step until she was somewhere she couldn’t even remember. But perhaps most of all, she was sick and tired of not knowing, of not remembering more than she did.

Lexa fell onto her bed with a quiet groan of frustration and annoyance, the heat from the shower slowly ebbing from her towel wrapped body. She grimaced as she pulled the towel wrapped through her hair off, uncaring of the mess she would wake to in the morning, and she groaned out a sigh as she let the towel slip from her body, uncaring of the water still clinging to her body.

But Lexa forced herself under the covers, she forced herself to turn onto her back, and she forced herself to remember, whatever it was that now seemed to bubble just below the surface.

She wasn’t sure how long she lay staring up into her ceiling, gaze trying to put an image to the ideas that swarmed through her mind, but she knew it to be too long when she yawned, when she found her eyes beginning to droop, beginning to close.

And she knew the light would annoy her, would cause her to sleep fitfully, would even annoy Anya in the morning. And so Lexa fought back another groan of frustration as she pulled herself from the bed.

But her reflection gave her pause, it made her think, made her stop mid step. The woman who looked back at her from her bedroom mirror was older than she felt, was more tired than she knew herself to be. But perhaps it was odd to think of someone only just nearing thirty to be old, to be ancient, to be worn down by life already.

Or maybe not.

If only because Lexa’s gaze was drawn to the scar that seemed to laugh at her, that seemed to beckon mirth and mocking with each passing glance she allowed.

And it was ugly, only just beginning to fade after the years. But it was simple too, just a fist sized shape, just barely an indentation in her stomach, all that remained of what had impaled her in the accident, had left her just barely alive, had been so devastating that a coma, that drugs and medically induced horrors were the only thing to have kept her alive.

And maybe Lexa was thankful that she didn’t remember.

Perhaps that was the only thing she could be thankful for with how her life had turned out to be.

“Enough,” she whispered out quietly, she shook her head and she let her hand reach out and flip off the switch.

And so Lexa returned to bed, to the warmth of her sheets, and she let herself fall into a slumber fuelled by dreams that she wished were more memory than hoped imagination.


	4. Chapter 4

Lexa woke to rain pattering against her bedroom window. It was dark still, and she found herself blinking away the sleep as she rolled onto her back and tried to remember whatever dream she had taken hold during her sleep.

She thought it something old, something uncertain, something known to her. Maybe it was a memory, perhaps a thought, an experience, something she wished would come back to her.

But, the more she thought, the more she tried to recall, the more it seemed to slip away. She knew that after all this time, it would come if it wanted, and would go as it pleased. And so she sighed and pulled her hand from under the covers and rubbed the fatigue from her eyes.

Lexa knew sleep would be slow to return, she knew the ache that seemed to settle in her core, that radiated out from her old wound, would keep her awake for hours to come, but she thought herself unwilling to brave the cold just yet.

She settled deeper into her covers, let her toes dance with the sheets however they saw fit, and she let her mind wander to places it wished. But as Lexa continued to think of little, as she continued to let her mind wander, she found flashes of thought moving through her mind. Things seemed odd, they seemed familiar, seemed constantly buzzing. Perhaps she saw fleeting images of a smile, of light that would set a head of hair aflame in the morning sun, perhaps she heard memories of a laugh, distant yet sure.

It took her a moment to realise she frowned, that her brows had furrowed and that she glared up at the dark of her bedroom ceiling as she tried to force her mind to remember. But that, too, she knew to be fruitless.

And so Lexa took in one last deep breath, rolled onto her side and let her eyes close. But through it all, she thought she saw blue, as deep and as vibrant as the depths of space, and she thought she saw golden hair, as brilliant as a smile lost in to memory.

 

* * *

 

Lexa woke to the sun brushing across her face. The light was only just a little warmer than the rest of the room, but she felt it enough that it pulled her from her sleep. She took only a moment to settle herself before her eyes opened to a single ray of light slicing through her closed curtains. She could hear Anya somewhere outside her bedroom door as she fell into her usual morning routine before work. It was times like this that Lexa found she enjoyed perhaps the most. And it was so for it let her turn back the years to a time when they had both shared an apartment, had both struggled with rent, with getting through each day as it came.

But she sighed, pushed those long gone memories away and she flung the covers from her body with a grimace. The cool air prickled her exposed skin and she couldn’t help but to wince as she sat up and let her feet dance over the cold of her bedroom floor.

Lexa looked at the painting that hung on her wall, the reds far too vibrant and energetic than she felt in the moment. But she let herself take in the swirls, the patterns that seemed haphazard, done with little worry or care other than to simply exist without worry or care. She smiled, just once, if only because she liked the way it made her feel.

And then she rose.

 

* * *

 

“Nope,” Anya said as she slid a plate her way.

“No?” Lexa asked, eyebrows creasing in annoyance.

“Yes,” Anya said with a single nod. “No.”

“Come on,” Lexa didn’t mean to sound like a brat, but from the way Anya’s lips quirked at the corners, she knew that’s what it must have come out as. “Why not?”

“Because,” and Anya shrugged as she laughed and stepped back from the kitchen counter.

“You suck,” Lexa said, and this time she let her lips pout a little more consciously.

“Maybe I’ll kick you out.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I wouldn’t?”

“You wouldn’t.”

“True,” Anya laughed as she ran a hand over her hair subconsciously as she pocketed her keys. “But I’m not telling you who it is,” she continued. “Not even going to tell you where, and it’s not any of our usual places, too,” she said. “Don’t bother trying to find out who it is.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Lexa countered as she bit into the toast.

“I’ll have fun,” Anya said. “Me, not you. The way it should be.”

“You’re no fun,” Lexa grumbled past the mouthful.

“I am, and I’ll be having fun until late if things go to plan,” Anya said over her shoulder. “There’s food in the fridge, or order delivery, or whatever, I’ll text you the safe word if I think the date’s going to be a dud, or they turn out to be a serial killer.”

“Fine,” Lexa let her voice call out to Anya as she slipped out the front door. “I hope you have a bad day at work.”

Anya barked out a laugh as the front door shut with a gentle thud, the sound of Anya’s keys being tossed and caught a familiar jingle to her ears.

Lexa sighed after swallowing a mouthful, and as she sat back in the chair she found herself with an uncertainty of what to do for the day beginning to settle. Normally she would fall into whatever routine she had, sometimes of walking the park, other times of wandering through the city with little to worry about except exploring, of seeing places new and old. Sometimes she would even brave the chill of the rains and simply sit on a park bench and watch the world go by.

And that was the thing, the sad thing, the odd thing. Her life had come to a sudden and, from what she had been told, violent halt. It had stopped it in its tracks and left her broken, beaten and at a loss for how to go about life. She hardly even remembered the days, weeks, perhaps even months after she had woken up. And the memories she did have were fractured, out of order and hard to wrestle into something that resembled a healthy memory.

She shook her head then, looked out the window and eyed the sun that peaked out from behind the clouds. She took only a moment to gauge whether it would rain, and then, with her mind made up, Lexa slipped off from the chair and reached for her red coat, destination already in mind.

 

* * *

 

The morning air was crisp, perhaps just a little too cold for it made the very tip of Lexa’s nose sting. Each step she took was cautious if only because she knew how slippery the ground could be this time of year. With hands in pockets she didn’t feel the cold too much though, and so she let herself embrace the chill, embrace the cold.

Lexa walked past shopfront, street sign, parked car and person without much on her mind. She had walked this path more times than she could count, she had memorised each turn, each landmark that would let her know she neared. But she came to a stop at a crossroads, the red of a flashing light enough to give her pause, to wait until it turned green and for the cars to her side begin their journey before she made her way across the road.

She passed a boy, somewhere between child and man, struggle with a too energetic dog, its tail happy to wag, its tongue lolling out the side of its open mouth, and Lexa couldn’t fight the smile that tugged at the corners of her lips as the dog turned to her for only a moment to take a sniff before continuing its journey forward without worry or care.

Before long she came to her destination though. She stepped aside as an elderly woman exited the shop with a tired smile, and then Lexa pushed inside, she shivered to the change in temperature and she couldn’t help but to be grateful for the warmth that made her nose burn just a little.

Though not excessively large, the deli she stood in was well lit. Rows of shelves lined one half the the interior backed by a mirror that spanned the entire far wall. Contents filled the shelves with exotic foods, spices, and a myriad of other things she couldn’t quite place. The other half of the interior, where Lexa now stood in the midst of, was filled with small circular tables with three chairs around each. The table surfaces showed signs of use, of life lived over years, but nonetheless they were always clean and kept in as good a condition as could be expected.

People moved about the deli, too, some shopped through the shelves, moved from aisle to aisle as they searched for whatever their mind fancied, and some sat at tables, a coffee cup in hand, perhaps a small plate of food pieces Lexa found herself mentally longi—

“Lexa,” she smiled at the gruffness of the voice that called out to her in greeting.

A man eyed her from behind the counter, one hand raised, a far too large knife held in it as he smiled before bringing it down with a thud.

“Hey Gus,” Lexa said as she made her way between the tables and towards Gustus who continued to chop at a large piece of meat that she thought to be dried and spiced with far too much care for her to comprehend.

“What brings you here?” Gustus asked as he looked back up at, the beard that draped down his chin covered in a hairnet that she couldn’t help but to think comical.

“The usual,” she answered with a shrug. “Anya’s left me for tonight, I thought I’d get something interesting.”

“Good,” Gustus said as he turned his back to her and handled whatever pieces of meat he had been working on. “The things I’ve seen you eat are shocking.”

“Hey,” she said, and perhaps for only a moment Lexa couldn’t help but to wonder if she had once known how to cook much better than she now did, where her meals had never seemed to stray too far from reheating leftovers, a staple, she was sure, from her time renting with Anya. “Not everyone is some fancy food fella.”

Gustus barked out a laugh as he turned to her, a platter in hand with the meat now neatly laid out on it.

“Want anything in particular?” he asked as he slid open a glass divider and placed the platter into the meat counter that sat atop the large counter top he stood behind.

“I don’t know yet,” she said as she took a seat by the closest table before turning to eye the meat counter.

“Don’t have to choose yet,” he said. “Want anything while you think?”

“Sure,” Lexa answered. “Maybe something to drink?” she paused for a moment as she eyed a man who cursed as a box he had been trying to put upon a shelf fell and bounced off his head. “Need a hand, Murphy?”

“No,” he glared at her, one hand rubbing the red mark on his forehead.

“You sure?” Lexa said, and she felt the laugh already beginning to bubble up in her throat.

“Yeah,” Murphy said with a sigh as he stooped down and picked the box up.

“We have steps, Murphy,” Gustus said, and Lexa didn’t mind the rumble that filled his quiet laugh.

“Yeah, but that’s no challenge, big guy,” Murphy said. “See,” and he flashed a smile as he managed to slip the box into place. “All it needed was a little finesse.”

The clink of a cup being put down in front of her pulled Lexa’s attention from Murphy, and as she turned back to look at what Gustus had put down in front of her she found a glass cup, its rim a golden band, and its contents aromatic, steaming and a liquid amber she thought intriguing.

“What is it?” she asked as she reached forward and touched the glass carefully.

“Tea,” Gustus said with a shrug. “Turkish. It’s new. I’m testing it on you first before serving it.”

Lexa laughed for a moment as she brought the glass up to her lips and held it there as she inhaled, “smells nice.”

“Good,” Gustus said, his eyes narrowed a little as he continued to watch her.

“It’s good,” Lexa said as she swallowed, the taste something colourful that she couldn’t quite put her fingers on.

“Good,” Gustus said with a firm nod before moving back behind the counter.

And so Lexa fell into a rhythm not so unfamiliar to her. She sat, sipped at the tea before her and she watched the morning pass her by as it pleased. People would come and go, some would sit for a few short minutes, perhaps stealing a moment of rest in the middle of work, or perhaps they simply took the time to live in the moment without much thought. Some shopped the aisles, seemed to be as much intrigued as they were cautious of the exotic wares Gustus somehow always found. And Lexa enjoyed it. She enjoyed the calm at times, and the bustling at others.

But her attention was pulled from an elderly couple and to the outside when she began to hear the pattering of rain hitting the windows with a beat she found familiar.

Lexa pulled her phone out, checked the time only to sigh at how late in the morning it had become.

“Have somewhere to be?” she looked up to find Murphy already pulling out a chair before flopping himself down with a tactlessness she found refreshing.

“Not really,” Lexa answered with a shrug.

“Stay,” he said as he gestured around. “It’s always pretty quiet around this time. Plus it’s raining,” and she smiled as he rolled his eyes as if the rain’s simple existence had smite him in some way.

“Shouldn’t you be working?” she asked.

“Nope,” and he laughed as he stood, reached over the counter and pulled out a can of drink. “I’m on break.”

Lexa eyed the way he glanced over her shoulder and to whoever it was that walked by, and she was sure from the smirk that played across his lips that Murphy, perhaps a little too obviously, must have been eyeing a woman who walked past.

“What?” he said as his gaze snapped back to her.

“Nothing,” Lexa shook her head, and not for the first time she found herself trying to decipher why she found Murphy’s company enjoyable.

Or perhaps enjoyable wasn’t quite the right word. But she knew it to be refreshing, that he didn’t quite seem to care much about his actions, that he just did what he wished, said what he thought and let whatever the consequences were flow around him with little resistance.

“You know, Lex,” he began, only for her to wince at the name. “I’ve been thinking,” and she narrowed her eyes for she was sure what he was to say next would be something silly. “I might go back to school.”

“What?” Lexa didn’t mean to laugh, she didn’t mean to sound so incredulous, but she did and for a split second she saw just the hints of offence behind Murphy’s eyes before he seemed to accept her reaction with more humility than she would expect.

“I get it,” and he gestured around himself, to the aisle, to Gustus who she heard moving about at the back of the deli. “Look at me,” and she did, she eyed the way his hair seemed to flop across his head without much care, or the way his lips almost seemed to pull at the corners in a permanent smirk that at times infuriated her and other times was oddly charming. “I’ve been here years,” he sighed. “I messed about at first, didn’t know what I wanted to do.”

“But Gustus knocked some sense into you?” Lexa said.

“Yeah,” Murphy shrugged. “You could say that,” but he paused, seemed to become a little more serious with each passing second. “He really taught me how to take things seriously. That it’s ok to have fun, but when it’s time to switch on, you gotta be switched on.”

“Yeah,” Lexa found herself nodding for she could see what Murphy said. “So you’re serious?”

“As serious as I can be,” he answered after taking a sip from the can.

“What are you thinking of studying?”

Murphy let the can clip against the metal tabletop as he took a moment to think, and perhaps for just a split second Lexa was sure she saw a reluctance to answer before his gaze steadied.

“Teaching,” he said.

“Teaching?” perhaps Lexa hadn’t expected to hear that.

“Yeah. Teaching,” and Murphy sighed. “I know how it sounds,” he continued. He paused for another moment as he looked away, seemed to lose himself to memories or thoughts, and Lexa was happy to indulge, she was happy to watch. And not for the first time she found herself wondering what it must be like to be able to recall at will, to be able to rely upon years of life lived to help in times of uncertainty and change. “Look, I’m no saint,” Murphy said. “I know I was a screw up. I still am sometimes,” and he shrugged. “Comes with the life I’ve lived, I guess.”

Lexa’s eyebrow raised, if only in question.

“Yeah, I know. I’m not making excuses for my actions,” he shrugged. “But if I can help others, if I can teach them that there’s another way forward, then shouldn’t I do that?” and Lexa found herself agreeing, if only a little, if only because she thought Murphy sounded sincere.

“What will you teach?” she asked, and it would be lying if the answer didn’t intrigue her.

“That’s the thing,” and this time Murphy barked out a laugh. “I don’t know yet.”

“Yeah, that’s a problem,” Lexa said as she tilted her head to the side in thought. “Maybe something practical?”

“That’s what Gustus says, you know?” Murphy answered. “And I quote,” Lexa fights the smile that tugs at her lips as Murphy’s voice drops lower and becomes more gruff. “ _Stick to what you know. And I know you can’t count or write,_ ” Murphy coughs before continuing. “I know my weaknesses. Maths and English aren’t my forte.”

“You want my help figuring it out, don’t you?” Lexa asked, and for a moment she tries to think of what Murphy would actually be good at.

“Look,” and he scratched at his cheek, the awkward amount of stubble on his face, Lexa assumed, enough for it to itch. “You’re a smart cookie, at least Gustus tells me so,” Lexa’s eyes rolled. “And I’m not too proud to admit you’re smarter than me,” and he held up a hand. “And don’t give me your sob story, I’ve heard it too many times to count—”

“—You can count?”

Lexa couldn’t suppress the laugh at what she heard come from Gustus somewhere nearby.

“As I was saying,” and Murphy takes Gustus’ jest in stride. “You’re smart, Lex. So what do you say?”

“I still don’t actually understand what you want from me,” Lexa said, and it wasn’t that she was opposed to helping Murphy, but she just couldn’t quite see why Murphy needed her help.

“I just need someone to bounce ideas off who won’t laugh in my face,” Murphy said. “I’d ask Gustus, but I think he’s too close to me to give me a straight answer.”

Lexa took a moment to think over what Murphy asked, and perhaps, if only because she did actually like him, she didn’t think it could hurt.

“Sure,” she said with a shrug. “No promises of how much advice I can actually give you though.”

Murphy scoffed and waved his hand dismissively.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Lex,” he said. “You’re a lawyer. Even if you don’t remember it. Giving advice is your middle name.”

 

* * *

 

The rain had turned into a light drizzle, only enough that it seemed more mist. Lexa pulled the collar of her coat up, tucked her face into it and let herself get lost in the warmth and softness of the fabric as she continued to walk the street, a tightly wrapped bundle of odd foods tucked under her arm. Cars moved past her without much care for the puddles in the roads, and at times, as if by some sixth sense, Lexa would find herself unconsciously taking a step away from the road as a car passed, its tires splashing water over where she had been standing mere moments before.

Few people walked past, partly because they were at work, and partly because most weren’t so fond of the cold and the rain. But Lexa didn’t mind, she never did. Not quite, anyway.

And so she let her mind turn to Murphy’s question, to his desire to talk, to discuss things without worry of being laughed at. She found it intriguing though, and perhaps, if she was honest with herself, she thought it could help her, just a little. If only because recently she had felt just a little lost and unsure of where her life was to go after so long without more than the short flashes of memories having returned.

She couldn’t help but to think of what Murphy had said though, of her life as a lawyer, and it saddened her a little that he assumed all those skills, all those abilities she was sure to have mastered, would be there, somewhere locked in her brain. But try as she might, Lexa couldn’t even glimpse a sliver of what was once there.

Before too long Lexa came to a stop at a set of red lights. A woman in a blue coat stood offside, one hand in a pocket, the other clutching something to her chest. It took a moment longer for Lexa to recognise who it was past the beanie and the scarf that wrapped around her face, and as the recognition dawned upon her, she saw that same recognition in the woman’s eyes.

“I’m not stalking you,” Clarke said. “I promise.”

“Hey,” and Lexa felt her cheeks heat at the memory of what she had done in the shower. “Technically, I would have been stalking you, this time,” and Lexa tried not to let her voice shake too much as she eyed the very tip of Clarke’s nose that reddened with the chill of the day.“What are you doing?” she finished.

“Not much,” Clarke shrugged, the motion just barely noticeable behind the coat and scarf she wore. “I was in the park,” and she pulled her hand out of the pocket and gestured behind her. “I was drawing, but then it started to rain,” and she smiled.

“Oh,” and for some unknown reason Lexa found herself wanting to ask to see what Clarke had drawn.

“Here,” and Clarke opened the sketchpad she held to her chest and angled it so she could see. “It’s not done, obviously,” Clarke added, but as Lexa took in the free brushstrokes of grey and black, as she traced the empty white still be to filled in, she thought it charming in its looseness, in its incompleteness.

“It’s good,” Lexa said, and she meant it. “I mean it,” and she looked Clarke in the eyes.

“Thank you,” and Lexa tried not to lose herself in the way Clarke ducked her head, the motion bashful, perhaps a little charming. But for a moment, as Clarke looked back to her, Lexa was sure she saw a sadness, something deep and longing in the blue of Clarke’s eyes before she blinked and whatever she had seen disappeared.

The pedestrian light turned green then, and so both women began to cross, an awkward silence now settled over them. But, as awkward as it seemed, for some reason, Lexa found herself enjoying it, found herself thinking it comfortable and full of warmth.

But they came to the other side, Lexa’s destination one way, Clarke’s, she could tell from the way the woman had begun to turn, the other.

“I’m this way,” Clarke said, head tilting down the street she half turned towards.

“I’m this way,” and Lexa mirrored her motions with her own head as she gestures the opposite way.

“It was nice bumping into you again,” Clarke said, and Lexa found herself feeling drawn to Clarke, if only because something in the way Clarke’s gaze never wavered from hers seemed to pull her in.

“Yeah,” and Lexa fisted her hands into her coat pockets lest she do something stupid.

“Maybe we’ll bump into each other again,” and Clarke smiled, “see you arou—”

“Hey, wait,” and Lexa didn’t know why she felt the need to reach out to Clarke in words. “Tomorrow,” and she shrugged. “There’s a deli back that way.”

“I’ve walked past it a few times,” Clarke said, eyes brightening.

“If you’re around, I’ll be there in the morning,” and it wasn’t that Lexa actually had plans to visit Gustus again, but it couldn’t hurt. What else was she going to do?

“Yeah,” and Clarke smiled a little more freely. “I’ll be around.”


End file.
